“Help! Please help! Her life depends on it!” cried the young boy, perhaps eight years old. He rushed to the wagon that was plodding noisily down the dusty, dirt road.

A tall man, dressed in jet black armor embellished with green trim stood. His shield was adorned with the symbol of an acorn. A large sword was strapped to his back, along with a belt pouch that clanked as he moved.

“My companion, Darkwrath, and I will help you.” He stepped off the wagon, followed closely by a young man wearing a black robe and carrying a staff. As Darkwrath stepped onto the ground, the dark purple on the inside of his sleeves glinted in the sunlight.

“I too, will help,” said a halfling, nimbly leaping from the wagon and landing beside the others. He had a neatly trimmed beard and an easy smile. Dressed in simple leather armor, he also had a short sword belted to his waist.

“Lead on, boy,” commanded the man in black.

“Yes, sir knight!”

“I am no knight,” bellowed the man from behind the mask that hid his face. “I am Mourne, paladin of Leifen, Goddess of Nature.”

“And I am Glimlor, adventurer,” chimed in the halfling. “What is the nature of your emergency?”

The boy did not answer. He simply ran down a trail that led to a large red barn that stood near a dilapidated farmhouse. The three adventurers followed. When he reached the barn, the boy stopped and yelled at them. “She is in here! She is dying! You must help!” He opened the door to the bar and ran inside.

The trio entered the barn. Lying in the middle of a small pile of hay was a cow. The cow bellowed in pain. The boy tried to comfort her.

“It will be alright, Franchesca. I brought help,” he whispered, stroking the head of the cow. “She has been in pain for days. She has stopped eating and drinking. We cannot survive without her and the milk she gives. Please save her.”

Mourne carefully set down the green and black shield and knelt next to the cow. “I will heal her,” he said. He lay his hand on the side of the animal. Harsh words spewed forth and his hand glowed faintly. The cow became still.

“I have healed her injuries, but not the cause. There is something still wrong.”

Glimlor knelt next to him. He began prodding the cow, noting when the beast shuddered and when it cried out. “She ate something that has become lodged in her system. I’m afraid if it cannot be removed, she will perish.”

“It was a potato,” said the boy. “My father said, Thoman, don’t feed people food to the animals, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t know she would swallow it whole!”

“How does one get a potato out of a cow?” asked Darkwrath. He looked bored.

“I have diagnosed the problem,” started Glimlor. “Mourne has stabilized the patient. It is up to you, good wizard. Have you a spell that will help?”

Darkwrath thought for a moment. With a look of disgust, he removed his robe. He had long, brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Rolling up the sleeves of his simple shift, he looked at Mourne with pleading eyes.

Mourne nodded. Darkwrath sighed and moved to the rear of the cow.